


Weight of the Crown

by VariousV



Category: Dissidia: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Additional Characters to be added, Canon-Typical Violence, Feel free to critique characterization, Gen, Gonna be doing lots of research, Minor Character Death, Most of which I never played, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to main title games, References to original Dissidia games, Vaguely follows Dissidia NT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VariousV/pseuds/VariousV
Summary: There was never meant to be a fifteenth world, and its existence throws a very delicate balance into very serious chaos. Though the war was seemingly over, veteran warriors of light and dark are drawn back by new gods. And, of course, the twilight prince of the unexpected world is thrown into the middle of it all. Tags to be added as story progresses. Co-published on fanfiction.net.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have written in - god - years, I think. Since my senior year of high school, maybe? To be honest, I can't entirely say what encouraged me to write again, since I haven't really derived much enjoyment out of it in so long, but I'm getting to the point where I want to try my hand and writing an actual, publish-able book, and I'm hoping this could serve as encouragement to settle back into a sort of flow, and though I'm busy, I'm going to shoot for uploading at least once a week, before Sunday evenings. I've been notorious for never finishing anything, but I know how I want this to end, so I'm hoping that will help, haha! That said, criticism and other positive feedback would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Many thanks to my man, who is serving as a sort of beta as I get back into the swing of writing.

There was never meant to be a fifteenth.

The Crystal, bright and eminent, had provided light for worlds since the dawn of time, creating life in its own image and spreading existence to the far reaches of the universe. Each world, though distant, settled together like pieces of a puzzle, tied by the constants given by their provider. It left, in the charge of the divine beings of each realm, a fragment of itself, pure and holy, to guide the world and maintain balance between light and dark. The goddess of harmony - Cosmos - and the god of discord - Chaos - each offered a small piece of themselves, in turn, to aid the fledgling worlds to build destiny from the ground up. This instant of blessing was one of the few points the pair could come together, greeting one another in their battleground between worlds, as equals.

This process had repeated, safe and successful, for hundreds of thousands of years. A total of twelve, brilliant worlds had developed from the might of the Crystal. Many of the oldest worlds, strongest bearers of the Crystal's power, even managed to create branches from themselves, giving birth to smaller, secluded realities.

The Crystal, and Its godly keepers, were proud.

But, there had been something wrong with the thirteenth world.

With its birth, the fragment of reality the Crystal had set aside for it split into three unstable pieces. The first - the eventual thirteenth world - had managed to find its way, though fragmented in its own way. A planet within a planet, a shielded world in the sky, hanging over the wider, wilder world. But it thrived, and so the Crystal deemed it safe to leave it alone. Instead, attention was focused on the other two beacons of fragile life. The second came to be easily enough, though tumultuous and chaotic, a darkness permeating war-torn lands and children groomed to be war dogs. There was certainly a hesitance in the Crystal in letting it survive, Chaos's touch too heavy on that plane for anyone's preference besides the god, himself. But there was already life, and no entity had the will to destroy it.

The third light flickered on, weak and dim. Unable to settle on a form, it simply remained a dream, a thought of a would-be universe. There were shadows of individuals, whispers of breaths, daydreams of a future. But nothing stable. Nothing real.

So, the flicker is left. The Crystal and Cosmos fully expect it to flicker out, and the Crystal continues in Its purpose to create.

After the thirteenth, the Crystal created once more, giving birth to a sprawling, varied world known to its people as Hydaelyn. And though it wasn't without its struggles - as none had been - it still had a brightness. A beauty. And once more, the Crystal felt pride in Its creation. The struggle with the thirteenth world was forgotten, as was the undeveloped spark left behind.

By all, save the god of discord. Hungry as he was in his need for more of an upper hand than his bright counterpart. A world of his own. A weapon. Sharp. True.

And there was nothing better than an opportunity simply handed to him.

The fifteenth world took its first breath steeped in darkness. Affected by a blight formed by Chaos's will, what the people dubbed as the Starscourge devastated the realm of Eos. Darkness coalesced into physical forms of daemons, which stole the lives of the innocent. And though Orience was steeped in strife, it was never meant to be a proper "world." So, it is abandoned, as Cosmos and the Crystal restore balance to a piece of the universe never meant to be. And with it, they hope for some sort of salvation.

Balance, after many long, hard-fought wars, is restored. And with its birth, the Crystal goes silent. The god and goddess disappear. And the realm between disperses, gateways between the lights vanishing.

And all, it seems, is settled.


	2. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a prince awakens in a strange land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, once a week, I know I said, but I also already had chapter one finished, and felt it wrong to simply leave things with the prologue for now. So I can give ya'll this, too. Once a week updates start now, so expect the next chapter between 10-19 and 10-25.

He woke to a whisper. 

A voice tickling his mind, softer than a breath. Far too quiet to make sense of any words, but he could hear its tone. Gentle. Kind. Like a mother regarding her child, and he could guess that it was a woman's. There was a familiarity to it. Light and pure. A voice from long before, back to even memories old enough to be foggy, little more than feelings.

Luna? 

No, not quite. Close, though, he thought. Her voice - this mystery speaker - had the same timbre as Lunafreya's, but it was simply off. Like the feeling one gets when they know they've misplaced something, but can't find it. It's softer, he supposed. Weaker, even, like the strength she needed to even muster the beginnings of sounds was a great effort. He felt pity for her, and then felt guilty for that pity.

He felt his fingers twitch, the beginnings of movement from leaden limbs as he sought out the ghost. Something kept him still. Stuck. Hardly even able to breathe. Like his body had to shut down to better pay attention. Listen for those words he knew were important. But-

Light. 

Harsh, brilliant light amidst the vast darkness. But cold. Hollow. Not like the sunshine, or even lamplight, providing comfort with their warmth. It swallowed him whole, and his feet fell through empty space. The voice grew farther. Distant. More of a whisper. 

Then just a wisp.

Then. 

Nothing.

Then he woke. His starved lungs pulled in heaps of air, eyes blinking furiously against the rough winds. He could feel the grit of sand on his teeth, rocks digging uncomfortably into the back of his head. Odd, he decided. Duscae was grassy and lush, and the wind carried the sounds of wild beasts and the smell of trees. Havens were flat plates of rock, surprisingly comfortable for their solidity, and Gladio was always careful to make sure the ground was flat and smooth before setting up their tent. There shouldn't have been anything sharp beneath him. 

Gladio...

Ignis. And Prompto.

"Guys?" He whispered, blinking slowly, ridding his lashes of sand dumped onto his face by the steady breeze. He was met with empty air, not even the whisper from his dream answering his call. He tried again, easing back into his voice. "Hey, guys...?"

Finally, he managed to pull himself into an upright position, muscles tired and stiff, like he had been bunched up in a box for too long. Like he'd been sleeping for an eternity. And normally, the lazy prince wouldn't have cared for a prolonged nap, but something felt wrong, and there was far too much to do. He groaned, rolling his shoulders back and turning his head this way and that. He kicked his legs out before him, and then underneath him, moving to stand. The world spun, but only for a moment before the sight of a wasteland of cracked earth and grey sky settled into view. Shadows of rubble lined the skyline, though he couldn't make out what any particular collection may have been at some point, or how long they had been there. He squinted, blinking again. Absently, he wondered if it was more from a hope that something familiar might settle into view, rather than...

Well, wherever he had found himself. 

"Hello?" He called, voice nearly echoing against the dead-ness around him. Of course, no response. He turned in place, a soft grumble in his chest. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and tried again, louder. "Helloooo?"

There. Behind him. Footsteps.

He turned once more, dark brow cocked in curiosity at the figure approaching him. Humanoid, definitely. But, like the world around him, there was something strange about the stranger - and he couldn't help but inwardly laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He was tall and lean, with the build of a warrior, and he bore the armor and horned helmet to reflect his supposed occupation, like he had walked right out of a fairytale. Within his grasp was a sword, and on his other arm was strapped a buckler. He seemed to live in shades of blue, gathering the weak sun and refracting it, like crystal. A mirage, maybe? 

"Hey there," he greeted, uncomfortable, but kind, as he approached. Loose rocks crunched beneath his boots. The other continued moving towards him, but seemingly made no indication of having heard him. "Huh," he hummed, then tried calling out to him again. "Look, uh, I'm a bit lost. Could ya, maybe, tell me where I am?"

No response, but the figure moved closer, still. The prince stopped mid-step. Standing so close to him, that blade looked awfully sharp... Another, conscious twitch of his fingers, and the atmosphere split with the faint sound of cracking glass, and his own weapon materialized in his hand. He held on tightly, insecurity surely written all over his face.

The stranger didn't even flinch. 

Instead, he steeled himself, expression blank. And he charged.

In return, the prince drew back his arm, preparing to throw his blade, when another struck before he could. When the stranger was struck, he seemed to shatter, like the fine crystal he appeared to be. The prince flinched back, watching warily as the felled stranger's double met his gaze with icy blue eyes.

A bit frigid, but not unkind. More like... Resolute. Determined.

He could only assume the other knew what was going on.

"Are you hurt?" the knight called to him. His voice was firm, clear, and just a bit intimidating. The prince could only shake his head. The silver-haired warrior's lips quirked in the tiniest of smiles. Somehow, it was just enough to ease some of the tension. "Good. I sense the light within you. I'm sure it's calling the manikins to you."

"Manikins?"

The knight hummed, nodding once. "Of course; forgive my lack of consideration. You are new to this plane."

What an understatement, the prince thought with a chuckle. 

"I am known as the Warrior of Light," the knight introduced himself. Fitting title, he supposed. "And what may I call you, friend?"

The prince blinked, shyly ducking his head and absently scratching at the back of his head. "Well... It's Noctis. But, uh, just call me Noct."

The Warrior of Light - was that even a name? did he even have one? - smiled gently at Noctis. But there was an underlying gravity. He carried the weight of the world in that smile and those stern eyes. And Noctis knew, deep down, that some of that weight was about to be given to him.

He swallowed, hard.

"Well met, Noctis. I fear we have much to talk about."

And so they walked together, the knight escorting him across the deathly plane and regaling him with the fantastical history of war-torn land. The story that the Warrior of Light gave him was utterly far-fetched and completely ridiculous. An absolute fairy tale of epic proportions. And Noctis clung to every word, surprised by how much he listened. Perhaps a large part of it could be accredited to the commanding nature of the warrior’s voice, but really, Noctis couldn’t help feeling a sort of resonance with the tale he wove. 

He could assume that every world - funny to think about things like that - had their own battles between light and dark. All worlds had their gods and prophecies and destinies. All worlds had conflicts to work through: people ready to end it, and people feeding into it. The Warrior of Light assured him that Noctis had been elected to join the side of the former, and their destination was the tower encircled in blue light growing on the horizon - the haven of their leading goddess.

“This Cosmos you’ve been talking about?” Noctis asked, brow quirked as he tried to follow along. His facial muscles ached with the effort of his drawn, thoughtful expression. 

The warrior shook his head, armor shifting noisily as they walked. “Regretfully, no. I’m afraid that Cosmos has departed from us. Instead, this cycle will be led the goddess elected to take up her throne.“

Noctis nodded. The Warrior of Light chuckled. 

“I can tell that you’re not following.”

“No offense,” the prince said with a shrug, apologetic and awkward. “Just… it’s a lot, ya know.”

The knight nodded in return. “Indeed. A great many of us still wonder why we fight, regardless of what side of the battlefield we find ourselves on. I suppose I have merely grown accustomed to being tugged around by fate.” A pause. “Don’t misunderstand, of course; I’m not resentful of my position.”

Could that have been because he was simply used to it? From the sounds of things, the whole harmony and discord plight has been waged for ages. But Noctis didn’t feel it polite to ask. The Warrior of Light seemed sure enough in his motives, and though the prince didn’t know him well enough to judge if he was happy, he seemed content. Given his own position, Noctis supposed that was all he could wish for, for anyone. 

Good for him.

It’s a long walk to the tower of their goddess, and what distance they cover they don’t accompany with silence, they spend time dispatching those crystalline enemies, each of which have taken a form Noctis doesn’t recognize, and the Warrior of Light doesn’t comment on. He does, however, inform the prince that they can be quite a nuisance - noted, he thought, a little less than humored - and take the form of warriors who have crossed onto the battlefield of the gods. The idea that Noct would see one of himself briefly flitted across his mind, but he never bothered to wonder how he might feel. Whatever answer he could give himself likely wouldn’t be… sufficient. The pair don’t see much, otherwise: simply dead trees, hardly reaching more than several feet from their roots, and more crumbling villages of brown stone. The thought of what they may have been for, or who may have resided within them, never crossed the prince’s mind. Instead, he thought of his former home, also in ruins, and winced.

The Warrior of Light was considerate enough to not comment on his new ally’s moment of weakness.

“Materia awaits us,” the Warrior of Light said as they stopped, tilting their heads back to stare up the length of the tower. Enveloped in that soft, blue glow, Noctis couldn’t help feeling surprised at the chill in the air. The energy surrounding the tower was even colder than the wasteland. One would figure the dominion of a lady of light would be warm. “The other warriors,” he continued, “have likely already gathered inside.”

Noctis nodded. What else could he do?

The knight didn’t ask him if he was ready, when a pure white elevator of sorts opened up before them, clear cylindrical doors opening up with a soft hiss onto a pure white platform, decorated in flowery filigree. Fair enough; Noctis wasn’t sure if he would be able to say that he was ready to go. He was stepping into a mess he couldn’t even begin to understand, when there was enough of a mess waiting for him back home. And he doubted the other man wanted to hear of his hesitance. At the very least, the prince wouldn’t trouble him with it. Still, he took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand despite the weight of burden on his chest. He looked to the Warrior of Light. Nodded. The knight nodded in return. And together, they stepped onto the platform.

“So, what’s this Materia like?” Noctis asked, absently scratching at the back of his head. 

The response he received was only slightly discomforting. “I don’t know.”

Well, he supposed they would find out.


	3. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the stage is set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter had a bit of a different feel from the last. There's a bunch more characters and it's a little talk-y, and less on the descriptive side, but I couldn't find much that didn't feel necessary? So it was hard to shorten it. We meet some key players, and Materia reveals her intentions. I also noticed, reading over this one, that I have a nasty habit of slipping between past and present tense, so I will be going back real quick and looking over the other two chapters.

To be fair, Noctis hadn’t been given a basis for what to expect when meeting the supposed heiress of the goddess of harmony. So when he met Materia, he wasn't sure whether he should feel over or underwhelmed. 

She was… pretty… he supposed. Elegant in a way often reflected in women of status. Her features were soft and round, a sweet face framed by long hair. Golden waves fell over her shoulders and down the middle of her back, easing into a rose color. Her honey eyes shone with flecks of gold, and an unexpected sort of apathy. She was petite, otherwise. Unassuming, save for the grand, mechanical wings of clockwork at her back, and the staff in her delicate hands, spinning and ticking and giving off a faint glow of blue light. She didn't quite feel like she belonged, really.

And Noctis wasn't quite sure how that bode, for any of them.

Her gaze slowly shifted over her warriors - fourteen of them, total - seemingly empty and almost uncaring, before they settled on the prince. And that coldness melted away to something akin to shock, her pink lips parting in a silent gasp. Noctis tilted his head questioningly, but didn't otherwise speak. Materia was the first to break the silence outside of the insecure shuffling of her warriors. "You're not supposed to be here," she noted.

And then, all eyes landed on Noctis. He didn't know what she meant, but he wasn't too keen on being singled out, and he immediately drew into himself, arms crossed over his chest and eyes downcast so he didn't have to meet the stares of his fellow fighters, judgmental or not. Not supposed to be there? Well, sure, he supposed; he certainly didn't want to be. He had a wedding to attend - his own - and a city that needed rebuilt. Too much to take care of to be wasting time in some interdimensional war. If he could find his voice, he'd have been all too eager to ask to be sent home.

Instead, he kept quiet, and Materia continued. She shook her head slowly, turning her gaze away from the prince and spreading her attention. "No matter. Your aid will be welcomed." And that is not what he wanted to hear. Many of the others didn't seem like they wanted to hear it, either. Especially the tall woman with pink hair and a very standoffish attitude. But another fellow in a leather jacket with a wide scar from just under his hairline to under his left eye was pretty close behind her in regards to who was the most done with the situation. The rest seemed fairly confused, sharing curious glances and uneasy expressions. 

Right. The Warrior of Light had said that they all thought the battle was over. 

“Uh, s’cuse me!” A young man piped up in the back, clad in cut-off shorts and a gauntlet of leather and brass, jacket pulled open to reveal an athletic build. His hand was lifted, like a student in a classroom, and the excited bounce of his body jostled the pendant around his neck. “Aid in what? We already beat Chaos, right?”

Materia pinned him with a look, fairly blank and just a bit offended. It silenced the excitable young man, and drew a defensive expression from the apparent weaponsmaster at his side, if his arsenal was any indication. A shorter male, bearing golden hair and a long tail, of all things, offered a sympathetic look and reassuringly patted his arm. 

“The age long conflict may have ended, but I fear that was not quite enough to save my fragile world.”

The unspoken question was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, but even the bold young man from before didn’t bother to speak aloud. 

There’s more?

Even Noctis, who hadn’t been a part of the initial conflict, couldn’t help feeling surprised. In fact, looking around, only the Warrior of Light seemed to be without reservations. He simply nodded, like he was silently accepting some sort of sacred duty. In a way, they all were, whether they wanted to or not.

Materia continued, tone monotonous despite the gravity of her words. “I fear that this world between worlds is crumbling. There was a great instability when I was given charge, certainly; but since, it has only deteriorated more and more rapidly. The very land beneath our feet is unstable, and my energy alone is not enough to sustain it, anymore. Not when it feeds from the energy and wills borne of combat.”

There was a heavy pause. It was the pink haired woman who spoke up. Her voice was sharp. No-nonsense. Noctis found that the way she spoke - intelligent and firm - was enough of a combination of his shield and advisor to already make him a bit homesick. “So what you’re telling us is that if this land isn’t serving as a battleground, it simply falls apart.” Materia nodded. The woman scoffed. “You may as well tell us that all of our efforts in bringing peace was pointless. A hindrance, even.”

Materia showed the first flash of emotion, however brief, since her surprise at Noctis’s presence. It was guilt, but only for a second. And not a pair of eyes in the room missed it.

There was a mutual sigh between the silver-haired weaponsmaster and another white-haired knight, donning silver and lavender armor. It was him who spoke next. “Then what would you propose we do? Surely you couldn’t ask us to fight one another.” 

There was another flash of emotion, too quick to be caught that time, but it was telling enough. Noctis thought it was something she had at least considered. But it wasn’t what she said, though it made no one feel any better. “There are still the manikins, plenty of which had been left even after you previously sealed the rift to their dimension.”

The pink haired warrior spoke up again, cutting off whatever Materia was about to say, if anything. She grew more and more heated with each word from the goddess’s mouth. “But that’s not a permanent solution. Their doorway is closed, and unless we open it again - which no one will do - we’re bound to destroy them all. Then what? Turn on each other?” 

No one disagreed with her, but the Warrior of Light, at least, had decided enough was enough. He turned his head, just enough to catch his fellow warrior out of the corner of his eye. “Lightning,” he said simply, and Noct wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the Warrior of Light seeming to be their elected leader, or some sort of mutual respect, but the woman - Lightning? - huffed and went quiet. 

Solidarity showed itself once more when the man in lightly colored armor spoke up again. “Miss Materia,” he began, voice soft, “surely you can understand our perspective. Many of us have developed close bonds on the battlefield. It isn’t our desire to put one another in harm’s way.”

“Nor is it my desire to see any of you hurt. But I fear I am left without another option.”

The following silence was heavy with unease. Noctis could almost hear the others’ breathing around him. Some were shallow and nervous. Others heaved angrily through flared nostrils. What a disaster. 

Materia must have known the weight of her cold request, because she turned away from the room as she said, “you may go,” and dismissed them.

They left in trickles, Lightning leading the way back to the elevator with the scarred fellow and a blond carrying a massive broadsword on his back close behind. Then the athlete, alongside the weaponsmaster, the tailed boy, a timid young lady in red, a child knight, and a young man in a silver vest with a posture too relaxed for the conversation they just had. A short woman with pointed ears walked out on her own. Another woman with white hair and pale eyes was close behind, but she paused long enough to offer Noctis a sort of quiet, understanding look. Noctis wondered, briefly, if she was new, too. 

The white knight hesitated before he turned to leave, too. His eyes had remained glued to the Warrior of Light’s back, as if he were contemplating physically pulling the other away, but he stopped himself, and shook his head. Instead, he turned on his heels, and he, too, approached Noctis. “Let us depart.” Noctis stopped, too, turning his gaze briefly to the Warrior of Light. The other man shook his head, gently resting his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “He’ll find his way back to us.”

And then, they took their leave as well.

By the time they had reached the ground floor, the others were already chatting amongst themselves, gathered in a subconscious circle, and had left spaces for their comrades missing. But Noctis couldn’t help noticing an additional spot, besides the ones for himself, the white knight beside him, and the Warrior of Light. Like they were missing a fifteenth person.

“Surely she can’t expect us to do this,” sighed the carefree boy, his hands folded behind his head and his gaze turned towards the sky. “I mean, how can a goddess of harmony ask us to practically turn on each other?”

“She’s still a goddess, Vaan,” Lightning said, and there was no shortage of bitterness in her tone. “It’s not unheard of for them to just drag unsuspecting innocents in to clean up the messes they either make, or don’t know how to deal with.” 

"I'm guessing you're not big on royalty or politicians, either," joked the blond with the monkey tail - Noct was pretty sure he had heard another warrior call him Zidane when they approached.

A younger boy in armor, helmet donned in white, splayed feathers, spoke up next. His words carried more weight and understanding than his age should permit. "I'm not so sure. Cosmos wasn't like that."

Lightning huffed. A common occurrence for her, Noctis thought. At least her lungs worked well. "Regardless of how she showed herself, she still used us like pawns on a chess board. Ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered how many of us fell, so long as her war was won."

"She cared!" 

Noctis's outburst shocked everyone, including himself. He flushed, pale features brightening with pure embarrassment. He shrank into himself, immediately floundering, guilt creeping into his blue eyes. "I mean… the Warrior of Light… he told me what happened before. She… seemed like she genuinely cared about you. All of you."

The paladin who had escorted him outside smiled a tiny, almost private smile. "Of course. He has this gift for spinning things in a positive light."

And just like that, though there were lingering stares and curious glances in his direction, the conversation was steered away, and the older warriors went back to chatting amongst themselves. Even the paladin, who introduced himself as Cecil, returned to the side of the weaponsmaster. Meanwhile, Noctis took the opportunity to step away, leftover awkwardness encouraging him from the group. It left room for the woman with the white eyes to approach him. She carried herself upright, posture respectable, but she still seemed at ease and confident. She regarded the prince kindly, and Noctis smiled back at her, politely.

"So it would seem as though we are the ones to share a more common ground," she mused. Her speech was elegant and her voice almost musical. Noctis wondered if she, herself, was royalty. But he cast her an inquisitive look at her words, and the woman chuckled softly behind her hand. "I, too, am unfamiliar with this land."

"Oh."

She didn't seem too bothered by Noct's discomfort. She seemed to simply roll with things, all the elegance of a lady. "My name is Y'shtola," and she held out her hand for him to take. Her dark skin was soft and warm as Noct took her hand.

"I'm Noctis, but, uh, just call me Noct, please."

"As you wish." The passing silence they shared, oddly enough, wasn't uncomfortable. They shared a mutual focus on the group at large, likely discussing their next move. "I must ask, Noct, what your thoughts are on this squabble."

"Which one? Between the gods, or between them and Materia?" 

"Perhaps both. Whatever you'd like to share."

"Well, she definitely doesn't seem like she knows what she's doing."

"That's an understatement." The response came from a different voice, from the jock who had been chastised by their goddess. "And not too big in the emoting department, either."

"Unkind as it may seem, I think I have to agree." The weaponsmaster approached as well, standing close to the first young man. Obviously, the two were close, but as far as Noctis could tell, only one person from a world had been called, so they had fought together before. He, too, smiled at Noctis. "My name is Firion. And this is Tidus." The jock waved when he was introduced. "I overheard that your name is Noctis?" The prince nodded. "I apologize, on behalf of everyone, that your welcome into our forces wasn't so… welcoming."

Noctis practically scrambled to brush off the apology, waving his hands in front of himself. "I mean, it's no big deal. There's been a lot going on, so, ya know."

Firion's responding smile was encouraging. He likely could sense Noct's severe lack of surety. "Regardless, I'd like to welcome you, now."

"I'd say it'll be good to fight by your side," Tidus chimed in, "but I can't say I'm sure how that'll go, now."

Yeah, considering there was a real possibility of them having to turn on one another, Noctis thought, uncomfortably.

"There are always the creatures that roam these wastes. We should refrain from entertaining thoughts of warring against comrades when there are adversaries already in our way." If no one else, Yshtola seemed to be a voice of reason. Perhaps it was her inexperience in the world that she was able to offer a more level headed perspective. "And if there are many of these manikins, as I presume there are, we're blessed to have much time to think." 

"And in the meantime," Firion added, "we'll have a chance to search for a possible way home." 

"Definitely can't hurt," came Zidane's voice, and it was then that Noctis looked away to realize that each of the other warriors had tuned in, gathering around the circle they had created to listen in. "Nothing's definitely gonna get done if we just stand around and do nothing."

"What we need is the Warrior of Light to return." Cecil turned his gaze back, following the line of Materia's tower up and into the sky, where they had left the knight. "I imagine he has been speaking with Materia. If he can return with more insight, perhaps we can flesh out a proper strategy."

With a temporary plan formed, they sat, Settling in together like old friends as they spoke of their own worlds, and comrades back home. Catching up on time passed. And with a mutual sort of enthusiasm, they welcomed both Y'shtola and Noctis into the group, all the same.

And Noctis ignored the way it made him feel homesick.


End file.
